Fire, Tears and Blood: a CK2 playthrough (ASoIaF)
by Rahja
Summary: What if there had been a third Targaryen child to flee Dragonstone, alongside Viserys and Daenerys? This is the story of Aenar Targaryen as played through in the great Crusader Kings 2 mod for A Game of Thrones. If you don't know the game, read this anway, but prepare for a hell of a ride...
1. My childhood

_AN: Welcome to this retelling of my Crusader Kings 2 playthrough as a non-canon Targaryen character. Most of what you will read was not entirely imagined by myself, but happened in the course of the game, although I have added some flavour texts to explain the weird events better. Do not be surprised if not everything you will read now fits canon as you know it, for once you start a CK2 game, the story begins to deviate from the books/show. Still, I found the story I had created in that game so fascinating that I wish to share it with you, and hope that some among you will enjoy it just as much as I did._

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**MY CHILDHOOD**

My name was Aenar Targaryen. At birth, I was named for the dragonlord of old who possessed the wisdom to flee Valyria before the doom, but I have been called many names since. In my youth, many knew me as the Silver Sellsword. Later, I would be known as Aenar the Prisoner and the Lord of Quarrels. Some would spit my name and call me a heinous villain, others would begrudgingly call me their liege, and a few would call me their dearest friend. There were two who would call me "my love", although I now feel only one of them ever meant it. And a very select few would even call me the sweetest name of them all – "papa". But to most, and to history, I will forever be known as Aenar the One-Eyed.

When I was born, many took it as a good omen. The Queen was still fertile, they said, and the line of succession would never be shaken. My father, the Mad King Aerys, however, was less than pleased. "Yet another boy. What use do I have for another? Couldn't you have given me a girl, so at least Viserys can have a proper marriage?," he allegedly shouted at my mother only hours after I was born. He shouldn't have bothered. Not even months later, he would have much greater woes to trouble himself with.

Robert's Rebellion broke loose and tore the realm apart. My mother took me and my brother Viserys to Dragonstone for safety, and she wasn't wrong to do so. My eldest brother Rhaegar perished in the storm of swords that followed, as did his wife and children at the hands of Lannister bannermen. My father was murdered by his own Kingsguard, and my beloved mother succumbed to childbed fever only hours after finally giving my father the daughter he had wanted for so long – Daenerys.

Suffice to say my childhood did not change for the better after these horrors. We were forced to flee to the Free Cities, my brother, sister and I, and for many years we starved like beggars. Viserys tried to stay strong for us, but it was hard for him, and he found it difficult to control his anger. The day he had to sell our mother's crown to buy food was the first time he beat me. It wouldn't be the last. When I was twelve, I dared to ask him about the rebellion, or the "Usurper's War", as he called it, in more detail. Apparently, my suggestion that Rhaegar might have acted foolishly, and that our father might have overreacted completely, "woke the dragon". Viserys beat me almost to a pulp, leaving me visibly scarred for life.

It was then that I knew I had to go. I didn't want to leave my younger sister, but had no choice. I felt helpless in the face of Viserys, and did not like that feeling one bit. So I convinced him to give me leave to search for Blackfyre, the ancient Valyrian steel sword of our house, so I might serve him as a knight when he regained the throne. At the time, I think, I still believed it would happen like this one day. Of course it didn't, but at the time I was young and naïve and not particularly self-assured. I believed Viserys's words of secret loyalists sewing dragon banners, and how he was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms. These days, I much rather think no one can be born for such a task.


	2. Returning Home

**RETURNING HOME**

In the year 299 AC, I had found myself in Tolos, far to the east, as a somewhat successful commander in the employ of Volantis. By some strange chance, I had managed to do what I had set out long ago – become a man (albeit a young one, and still quite naïve) and find a Valyrian steel sword. It wasn't Blackfyre, however, it was Dark Sister. How Visenya's sword had wound up here I didn't know, but there I was, ready to return to my brother and fight by his side to regain our rightful lands. Then, word reached me that Viserys had gotten himself killed by our brother-in-law, Khal Drogo. He was gone, and so was my sister Daenerys, my only living relative, who was now lost in the Red Waste. Some said she had killed her husband in retaliation, some said she had lost a child, and some even claimed she had hatched real dragons. None of it seemed very believable, and to make matters worse, none of it spoke of where I could find her. I was lost, a lonely dragon in a world that had moved on without us.

So I decided that if I was to be the last and die alone, I would rather do it on Dragonstone, my family's ancestral seat. I sold all I had to travel west. Once there, I tried to sneak on the island and visit the places my forebears had created, but I was quickly apprehended by the new Lord of Dragonstone. However, it wasn't Stannis Baratheon who sought me out in the dungeons, it was his red priestess, a woman by the name of Melisandre. She was a dangerous beauty, and had me wrapped around her finger in an instant. Much to my relief, she announced I enjoyed R'hllor's favour, and should hence not be executed on the spot. Instead, she recommended Stannis use me as a weapon in his current war.

As it turned out, the Usurper had died, and the dogs of Westeros were now fighting for his bones. Stannis, his brother, had declared himself king. According to rumours, he had also killed his younger brother Renly, who had named himself king as well, with black magic. Looking at Melisandre's flaming eyes, I did not doubt there was some truth to it. Then there was the Usurper's eldest son, who now sat the Iron Throne but according to Stannis was not his brother's son at all. This Joffrey Baratheon was said to be the incestuous bastard of his mother and her brother, a knight of the kingsguard, the very man who had driven a sword through my father's back. And to make matters even worse, both the North and the Iron Islands had declared their independence. There was blood everywhere.

I had half a mind to ask my captor for a quick, clean death instead of being mangled by this bloody mess. But then news reached us of my sister Daenerys, who was alive and well and had truly hatched three dragons. That's when I understood I wasn't alone, and I must not give up. I would play the game of thrones if I had to, for my family's sake.

Giving in to Melisandre's seduction attempts, I somehow gained a modicum of Stannis Baratheon's trust. He even promised he would recognise me as his heir until a son was born to him if I fought for him in King's Landing. Truth be told, I knew it should have been the other way around, for my claim on the throne was better than his, but I had no money, no friends and no chance of gaining the bloody thing. What he offered was more than I could hope for, so I agreed.

As I had done before in Volantis, I led a small group of soldiers into the capital to weaken its forces and gain intel. Being extremely lucky, I happened upon a beautiful lady while roaming Flee Bottom, who turned out to be none other than the pretender king's betrothed, Lady Margaery Tyrell. It was my chance, and I seized it, and seized her. Quickly, we rushed back to Dragonstone. Stannis was rightly pleased with my success and wished to cut her head off straightaway, for some strange reason having to do with his brother and hers and loyalty, which I did not understand altogether. The only thing I knew was that she was the Maiden made flesh, and I could not allow him to kill her for the faults of others. I protected Margaery, and Stannis grudgingly accepted, provided I would lead the vanguard for his attack on King's Landing.

I did. We fought the Battle of the Blackwater, and it was a terrible, bloody, nightmarish hell. I lost an eye trying to storm the Dragon Gate, but prevailed even with my face covered in blood. Only when Stannis himself was beaten and forced to flee did I surrender. Fighting now was futile, all that was left was to hope for the mercy of King Joffrey. Someone, I heard, convinced him I was "good leverage" against my sister, whom they now called "Mother of Dragons". So I was imprisoned, but kept alive. Only days later, word reached me that my captor had been murdered. His face had turn to a deep purple, and he died dropped over frothing at the mouth.

Things went crazy from here. His mother, Dowager Queen Cersei, madly accused her own brother of murdering Joffrey. His murder overshadowed everything, even me, the captured dragon. I was granted a trial by combat by the Lord Regent, Tywin Lannister, whom I heard was once a friend of my father, but then had my niece and nephew murdered in cold blood. Why did he show me mercy? I would never know, for I had scarcely (and very narrowly) won my trial by combat against Ser Lothor Brune that Lord Tywin died. He was shot by his own son, whom he had before banished to the Wall. Now, this son, Tyrion, fled the country while everything fell into disarray. The Queen Regent went mad and seemed not to know on whom to take out her anger, while her remaining son, now King Tommen, was a helpless little boy with no clue what to do. This maelstrom of chaos could have easily drowned me, but I refused to sink. I had survived until now, and I would do whatever was necessary to survive further.


	3. The Iron Throne Cuts Deep

**THE IRON THRONE CUTS DEEP**

My chance came when I realized how lost the little king, Tommen, was, and how crazy his mother. So I charmed my way into young Tommen's heart while attempting to make friends at court. It wasn't an easy feat to survive here as a prisoner in all but name, I found out soon when I heard about Sansa Stark. She had been the previous Hand's daughter, and sister to Robb Stark, now King in the North – and she had been beheaded at Joffrey's pleasure only days before our fleet arrived in Blackwater Bay. I pitied the girl, and swore I would not suffer her fate.

Tommen took to me quickly, and before his mother realized, I already had my claws in him. He allowed me to marry the Lady Margaery Tyrell, which gave me the support of the Reach and most of all her formidable grandmother, the Queen of Thorns. Then I convinced him to send his mother away to the Westerlands since she was now officially Lady of Casterly Rock. Cersei didn't like it, but her son's word overruled hers. Soon after, some wilful lackeys of the crown brought my old liege Stannis Baratheon before the throne in chains, having found him on his way north. I tried to help him by assuring a fair trial, but he quickly demanded trial by combat and foolishly lost against the Kingsguard. Still, I managed to convince Tommen to send Stannis to the wall and take in his daughter, Shireen, of whom I was quite fond. So it was done, and House Baratheon was reduced to a few children.

Then the Northerners came. Tommen, in his despair, named me Lord of Dragonstone and his commander. The Red Woman asked me to overthrow the boy now and make peace with the North, but I couldn't bring myself to go against the sweet boy. Not before the wars had subsided would I act upon this matter, I told her, and she angrily broke off her relations with me. Instead, she abducted Shireen and fled to Storm's End, where Shireen's crazy mother proclaimed her Lady of the Stormlands.

Tommen sent me to Dragonstone to gather my troops there, and it felt terribly good to return to its soil knowing I was now the rightful lord. Lord of Dragonstone! And, to make matters even better, my wife revealed to me she was pregnant. I could have been the happiest man in Westeros, but then the raven came. Much faster than anticipated, the Northerners had come and sacked King's Landing. No one knew what had happened to Tommen, only that now everyone in Westeros believed him and his sister Myrcella to be bastards born from incest. I hastily left my pregnant wife against her wishes and rushed to the capital, only to find the throne empty. Robb Stark had simply left it there. The Northerners had not even touched a hair on Tommen, now a crying confused bastard, but they had taken his true father, the Kingslayer Jaime Lannister, and beheaded him in front of the Sept of Baelor.

Had justice been done? I didn't know what to think. I wasn't even sure what to do. Only I knew this: before me was the throne my ancestor Aegon had built, and no one occupied it. I was blood of the dragon, I thought. It was mine. So I climbed the steps and sat down, foolishly believing the days of trouble were over for good.


	4. Dancing With Dragons

**DANCING WITH DRAGONS**

My new queen, Margaery, had not even arrived from Dragonstone when I received a declaration of war by Selyse Baratheon, Stannis's former wife, on behalf of her daughter Shireen. What an insane woman, to think the people of Westeros would prefer a greyscaled girl over a grown man! But still, it was a threat that could have easily brought me down before I'd even risen. That's when an old, white-haired man showed up professing to be none other than the legendary Barristan the Bold. He swore fealty to me, and I allowed him back into the Kingsguard gladly. The man he brought with him was even more peculiar – the banished Tyrion Lannister. After a long conversation, I agreed to show mercy to the remaining Lannisters and Lord Tyrion in exchange for his services, for he seemed to be an exceptionally bright mind. It was settled thus.

With Barristan by my side, I rode to Storm's End to make Shireen see sense, since she and I had been on amiable terms ever since my arrival on Dragonstone. However, I was quickly rebuffed by her mother and her "advisor", the Lady Melisandre. And before I could even begin to consider a real siege, another most unwelcome news reached me – a fleet was approaching, led by a man who claimed to be my nephew Aegon. It was a chaos that rivalled the days after Joffrey's death. The Golden Company pillaged the Crownlands while I desperately tried to assault Storm's End. In the meantime, my wife gave birth to a son whom she named Aegon to show the would-be king that he was an impostor.

Things looked rather bleak, I must admit. But the tides turned, else I couldn't be telling you my story now. Shireen snuck out her own castle and surrendered herself to me together with the Usurper's bastard Edric Storm, who had been forced to wed her to unite their claims. With her in my custody, the castle surrendered, and the war died down. I lost no time and rushed to meet the mummer's dragon Aegon, whom I finally faced in the Battle of Drakesgrave. Fitting name… It was a feast for crows, but in the end, I subdued the pretender. But there was no peace to be had, for the lords who had supported him now feared my wrath and openly rebelled. I had to fight battle after battle until they were all crushed.

A bloody, exhausted mess, I returned to my Queen and infant son. I reorganized the Small Council, sent envoys to my sister far to the east, who had apparently conquered some cities in Slaver's Bay, and banished the mummer's dragon to the wall.

But only weeks later, Lady Cersei declared the Westerlands independent after she had abducted her own daughter Myrcella from the care of the Prince of Dorne. I had no choice but to act, even though my wife claimed she was pregnant once more. She was rather cross when I left anyway. Was there to be no marital bliss for me at all? Only wars, and fire, and blood.

We lay siege to Lannisport, with little Tommen by my side in hopes of swaying his mother. I was confident. When they told me one of my kingsguard, Ser Preston Greenfield, was of Westerland descent, I told them he would uphold his vows and protect me nonetheless. A reckless fool I was. In the dark of the night, Ser Preston snuck into my war tent and tried to kill me, but was stopped by the sly bastard Meryn Trant, also of my kingsguard. To my dismay, Ser Meryn died protecting me, and I had to defend myself in my nightdress with nothing but Dark Sister to aid me. Suffice to say, I won and cut through Ser Preston at last. I would never fully trust a kingsguard again. But I dare to think this moment of my almost-death was crucial for what would come next. When the tides in the siege seemed to turn against us, a strange cry echoed through the sky. Striking terror into everyone's hearts, a dragon descended from the sky and set the city ablaze.

It was Rhaegal, the shining green child of my sister, who had broken free from the pyramid of Meereen and flown all the way here for my sake. I cannot say how I knew, or how I understood, but it felt right. I was blood of the dragon, after all. With him by my side, I got Cersei to surrender. All the debts the crown owed House Lannister were cancelled in order for me to spare the Rock from dragonfire. I returned triumphantly with the captured Lady Cersei, her pretty daughter Myrcella, her son Tommen, now my ward, and my new dragon to the capital, where my wife greeted me with another son – Daemon, who shared my silvery hair. I was happy, and I felt blessed. There would be peace now, I assumed, peace and prosperity at last. Fate, however, didn't agree.


	5. The War in the North

**THE WAR IN THE NORTH**

The Night's Watch called the entire realm for aid. The letters were strange, speaking of dead men walking, and I was inclined not to believe it. But the man who had written it was a Stark, if not by name, then by blood – Lord Commander Jon Snow. I felt I owed the Starks a debt for everything the throne had done to their family, so I took a few ships and sailed north myself. In the North, however, I wasn't warmly received. Robb Stark had no intention of bending the knee to me like his ancestor Torrhen had done. It angered me, even though I understood why he had broken from the Iron Throne in the first place. If his bastard brother was right, we could not afford to squabble amongst ourselves, so I set out for Winterfell to parlay. There, however, I found the gates barred. The Stark army had ridden South and declared war upon me, fighting below the neck. That I would be here, no one seemed to have expected. The sight of my small, but formidable army as well as my green-scaled dragon made the Lady of the North, Roslin, quickly surrender her castle for fear her two daughters should die in dragonfire. I accepted her surrender and promised safety for everyone inside the castle walls. Then I sent a raven to Robb Stark, but no reply came. Instead, I received news that Cersei Lannister had escaped my dungeons, and that someone had murdered Tommen. Aegon the Mummer's Dragon, too, had fled the wall, aided by a red priestess in the employ of Illyrio Mopatis. Oh, and my father-in-law and greatest ally, Mace Tyrell, died while attending to "chamber business".

Knowing there was so much going on, I could not remain in Winterfell, so I rode down south to meet my fate. In Greywater Watch, my troops finally met Northerners, and we were terribly outmatched. I had no other choice to survive but to use my best, and most terrible, weapon – dracarys! With Rhaegal's help, the Northerners were felled. I met with Robb Stark at last and did to him what my ancestor had done to his – I made him kneel. He didn't like it, but I felt I had done the right thing. To assure his loyalty, I demanded a hostage, and much to my surprise he didn't give me one of his daughters but rather his sister Arya, who had been presumed dead by all. She was a fierce thing, likely to cut my throat if I mishandled her, but I hoped her honour as a Stark meant something to her. With that on my mind, I jumped Rhaegal's back and flew back to King's Landing only to find everything in disarray.

In the Vale, Lord Lyn Corbray had forced the weakling Lord Paramount Robin Arryn to abdicate in favour of his heir, Harrold. But much worse, I found my wife presenting me with a child that could never be mine. In my absence, it seemed, and angered by what she felt was neglect, she had taken a Reachman to her bed and sired a bastard. I was… there is really no word for how I felt about this betrayal. For a moment, I wished to cut her head clean off, but then I thought of Aegon and Daemon, my sons by her, and decided I could not do this to them. Instead, I agreed with Margaery, her brother Lord Willas and the High Septon that our marriage would be dissolved and that she would return to the Reach while my sons stayed with me.

That was not the best time of my life.


	6. Hard Choices

**HARD CHOICES**

Hoping for happier days, I arranged a marriage for Lord Tyrion to one of the Sand Snakes, bastards of House Martell. It would help keep the peace, I hoped, and both bride and groom seemed to be on cordial terms. The wedding however did not pass without trouble, for the groom's sister, the elusive former Lady of Casterly Rock, Cersei, wound up dead just miles outside King's Landing. Just who had killed her, no one could find out.

After that, I would not be granted serenity for long. Soon I was informed one of my first bannermen, Lord Montford Velaryon, was plotting to overthrow me together with Myrcella Waters, who was his lover now. Before I could act upon that matter, word reached me that a bannerman of Shireen Baratheon had deposed her in favour of her little son, Rogar. I had to choose which of these two troubles to act upon, and I chose to save myself. It was probably the wiser choice, but I will never forgive myself for it. While I dealt with Montford Velaryon, whom I sent to the wall, and Myrcella, whom I took hostage, things in the Stormlands went awry. Somehow, Shireen made an attempt to get her son back, and in return was imprisoned by Lord Estermont and walled alive inside his castle. When I learned of it, it was already too late, and she was dead. It is a cruel world we live in.

After these painful events, things finally died down for a while. I even managed to befriend my hostage Arya Stark, who seemed fascinated by my dragon. Perhaps, I thought then, there could be peace between dragon and direwolf after all? At least I felt safe enough to ask for a formal coronation, and even invited my sister Daenerys, now Queen of Meereen, who arrived on dragonback. She was visibly happy to see her beloved Rhaegal safe with me and we agreed to be allies now and forever more. For a while, we both considered getting married, like the dragonlords of old, but in the end, I opted against it. "You have your lands to the east, which need their Mother of Dragons, their Breaker of Chains, whilst I am needed here," I told Daenerys, and she agreed and flew away.

But a queen was needed, everyone agreed. My council had accepted a period without one for a while after the painful betrayal of Margaery, but now everyone demanded I wed. Names were thrown at me instantly. I wasn't sure how to proceed, and I had little true friends in this world to ask. But if I had to, I would take a woman worthy of the title, no mad schemer like Cersei and no vain strumpet like Margaery. I would take one who was like me in that she hadn't been born for the throne, and wasn't truly sure she wanted it.

I married Arya Stark, the lady who never wanted to be one. And you know what? We were not that unhappy together. More often than not, we sparred together and would share stories of our travels through Essos. We would also go flying on dragonback together, for even though she had no Targaryen blood that would allow her to tame a dragon, Rhaegal accepted her as my friend and would take both her and me above King's Landing. Yet there were many who did not see our union as a wise choice. "She'll cut your throat while you sleep," they said. "You'll never have children by her, she is well known to despise all things usually attributed to womanhood. You can't buy her affection with dresses and jewels and pretty songbirds. One day, you'll wake up to find her gone, vanished without a trace." That's what people told me. When I told Arya, she laughed and said it was all true. But her words were one thing, her actions another, and it would take many years before she finally left me for good.


	7. We Do Not Make Peace

**WE DO NOT MAKE PEACE**

Remember what I told you about the Vale? As it turned out, the new Lord Paramount, Harrold Arryn, wished for a clean sweep through, and in the process imprisoned my Master of Coin, Petyr Baelish. I wasn't happy, for the man was highly competent, but I couldn't really fault Arryn for mistrusting him. There was something sly about him… But I had more important matters to concern myself with.

On behalf of Edric Storm, who had fled to me and begged my help in getting back his infant son by Shireen, I issued a decree to make peace. I would accept Rogar Baratheon as Lord Paramount and make sure he grew up well, and I would not punish any of the men who had gone against his poor young mother Shireen – if they gave me Lord Alyn Estermont, who had cruelly walled her up alive. Fortunately, the lords of the Stormlands considered my offer a fair one and gave me Estermont as a nicely gift-wrapped present in chains. Before I could muster a court trial for his crimes, however, another plea for help reached me.

Or rather, it was several pleas and news that forced my hand. From Oldtown, painful cries of fear came due to Ironborn raiders plaguing the coast. From the Westerlands, too, came such news, along with the terrible fact that Lord Paramount Tyrion's wife, Loreza, the Sand Snake I had chosen for him, had been taken by Ironborn, raped, and killed. I was abhorred by such savagery, and angry at myself for having allowed myself a measure of happiness in King's Landing instead of subduing that spiteful old madman Balon Greyjoy immediately after making peace with the Starks. But I would rectify that mistake now to the best of my avail, I swore. I had my Master of Ships assemble a fleet to sail to Oldtown, while I rode an army towards Casterly Rock once more to board ships there and push into the heart of the beast – Pyke itself.

Apparently, this was a good choice, even though it cost a hefty sum. Both Lord Tyrion and Prince Doran of Dorne took it as a sign that I cared about my people, and most of all, the heinous murder of Loreza Sand, and pledged their eternal loyalty to me in return. And since I had given my new queen, Arya Stark, command of one of my armies, the North also supported me now. Together, we would solve the Ironborn problem once and for all.

We were besieging Pyke when painful news reached us – Prince Doran's beloved wife had died, and my former wife Margaery Tyrell had overreached herself and acted against her brother, Lord Paramount Willas, who was forced to imprison her in turn. I have never understood why people are so foolish most of the time. Still, I felt remorse, for in some part of my heart, I still loved Margaery. I couldn't dwell on the matter for very long, however.

The siege of Pyke dragged on even after we captured one of their best commanders, Victarion Greyjoy. Then we had news Balon and his son weren't here at all, but had rather appeared to raid the coast of the Reach once more. I wouldn't have it. I called off the siege and had my troops sail south, while I took my wife Arya, mounted Rhaegal, and rushed forward. On the eve before the battle, word reached me from the capital that Lord Alyn Estermont had fled captivity. This, as Viserys would have put it, "woke the dragon". I should have had him killed immediately when I had the chance! But now, I felt no longer inclined to any kind of mercy. So when we met the Ironborn in the field, I told Arya I would use Rhaegal against them, even if it was terribly brutal. But she only shrugged and said: "Valar morghulis."

So I gave the Greyjoys fire and blood. Both Balon and his son Theon were severely burned, but managed to flee back to Pyke, even evading my own fleet on the way. How they managed that will always puzzle me, but it didn't save them. I was livid now. Together with Arya, I flew back to Pyke, and this time, it was her who said the words, and Rhaegal obeyed. "Dracarys!" We stormed the burning castle afterwards, Arya and me and a handful of our soldiers whose ship had been nearby. We freed the Lord of the Arbor and one of his sons from the dungeons, then rounded up the Greyjoys and clapped them in irons. Theon, although wounded, tried to fight me and lost. It was over.

A few days later, still sitting in the smoking mess that once was Balon Greyjoy's castle, I judged the Lord Reaver for his crimes. Nobody dared to speak up when Tyrion Lannister demanded Balon be put to death as punishment. So he was judged by his king, and sentenced to be executed immediately. But the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword, my fierce Northern wife told me, and I was happy to indulge her. Only that my true weapon was not a sword, I told her. It was Rhaegal. And thus was Balon Greyjoy duly roasted and fed to my dragon.

It was cruel, but it felt right. And it seemed the gods were pleased I was acting more and more like the Targaryen I was, for they rewarded me not with one, but two boons. First, Lord Alyn Estermont was captured by the regent of little Rogar Baratheon and tried for murder and treason. After hearing what I had done to Balon Greyjoy, and knowing that I hated him even more fervently for what he had done to sweet Shireen, he accepted his fate and asked to be beheaded immediately, lest I'd return to turn him into a dragon's meal. I wish I had roasted him, but it felt sweet enough to know justice was done at last. But what felt even sweeter was the boon the gods bestowed upon my warrior queen, Arya. She was pregnant.

Many, including herself, were rightfully unsure about this situation. She'd never make a good mother, Arya told me, not like her own mother. But I reminded her that she had been kind to my two little sons, something which her own oh-so-perfect mother had never managed to do with her bastard brother, Jon Snow. That silenced her doubts, and a few months later, she successfully gave birth to my first daughter, whom I allowed my wife to name. Not surprisingly, Arya chose to name her northern-looking, Targaryen born daughter for one of her childhood heroes – Visenya.

For a while, once again, I was happy. My sister Daenerys, now Empress of Ghiscar, took the long voyage upon her to congratulate us in person. And she brought me the greatest gift ever – a dragon egg from her own beloved Drogon. Once my children were a little older, I should give it to one of them so they could prove true Targaryens and hatch it, Daenerys said with tears in her eyes. I understood her feeling – once, we had been the only dragons left alive, and the world had been ready to wipe us out. Now there were three real dragons and one egg, and I had three children that would carry on our name. We were no longer lost.


	8. The War of Winter

**THE WAR OF WINTER**

Happiness, it seemed, never lasts long for a king. Little Visenya had not even celebrated her first nameday when the tragic news struck. First, we received word from Casterly Rock that the genius Lord Tyrion had been murdered, and no matter how hard we investigated, we could not find the culprit, just as it had been with Tyrion's sister Cersei or her son Tommen. Now, the Westerlands fell to Tyrion's only child by his late wife, a four-year-old girl named Alyssa. And if that didn't seem bleak enough, I soon had crying young children of my own around me.

My former wife, Margaery, had apparently tried to escape her brother's custody and had gotten herself killed in the process. Now I had to tell my two young sons they would never see their mother again. Aegon only shook his head in horror and secluded himself for weeks, surrounding himself with books, while little Daemon cried a river. The only one who seemed to be able to console him, strangely enough, was his stepmother Arya.

And then, winter came, and with it rose the dead. Once the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch had asked for aid, but we Southerners had been so occupied with our own petty crimes we had forgotten about it. Now, it seemed, it was almost too late. But as I had done time and time before, I refused to die without a fight. I raised every single levy in the entire country and sent them north, and I also asked my sister's help. If this was to be a battle of life versus death, of fire versus ice, I would have her by my side. She was fire made flesh, after all.

So we took our dragons northward, only to make the most peculiar discovery ever – there was another who could ride dragons, another with Targaryen blood. When I saw Viserion, the white riderless dragon, approach none other than the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Jon Snow, I understood. Everything came together in my head at once. Rhaegar. Lyanna. The Tower of Joy. Everything made sense. While Jon Snow and my sister and my wife seemed puzzled as to why the dragon liked him, I now saw clearly. I extended my hand to him, smiled, and said: "Nephew."

We spoke at great lengths about the whole matter, but only after the war. For now, we had to save the world of the living, and not many questions were asked. Daenerys taught Jon how to mount and direct a dragon as quickly as she could, and then together, the three dragons and their Targaryen riders set out to meet the Night's King.

The last battle of the Great War of Night was long, arduous, and bloody. I added many new scars to my old ones that day, but got off lightly compared to the many men who gave their lives. My wife, too, was heavily wounded, but survived. Jon Snow was not so lucky, though – when the dust had settled, Viserion could only return Jon's battered corpse to us. My wife and sister were inconsolable, for Arya had loved no relative as she had loved Jon, and my sister, it seemed, had been very much smitten by him during their brief dragon taming lessons. It was then that I received a gift from a most unexpected source – among our followers, my old lover Melisandre revealed herself. She gave Jon the blessing of R'hllor, and brought him back to life. In return, I forgave her for the role she had played in Shireen's brutal fate, provided she never set foot in my court again.

Thus the war was won, and peace was agreed on at last. Jon Snow, now no longer a member of the Night's Watch or a bastard, renounced any claim he had on my throne and instead took Daenerys's offer to join her. For that, she and I agreed he would now be Jon Targaryen. It was well done, I believe, for I could see he liked her, and I was not surprised to hear of their wedding soon after. They also took the Lady Melisandre, who honoured her promise to me, with them to Meereen. And thus parted the three heads of the dragon with a laughing and a weeping eye.


	9. FAMILY YEARS

**FAMILY YEARS**

Peace at last, I hoped, and finally focused on anything but warfare. I began repairing and expanding the Red Keep, building a personal training yard for my formidable wife who claimed she would not allow her wound to let her get "out of shape". I also finally judged many who had been waiting for justice a long time, such as Myrcella Waters, the would-be-queen. I pardoned her and sent her to Dorne, so she would marry Trystane Martell after all, the boy she had once loved before her mother had taken her away.

And good news followed. From the far east, we heard that the witch's curse had finally been broken, and my sister had given birth to a little princess, whom they had named Aryana. And my own queen, too, had once more found herself with child. This time, she was more confident about it, but when our new-born silver-haired little girl was placed in Arya's arms, she couldn't believe it. "She can't be mine, she's too pretty," my queen said laughing. I, wise man I now was, said nothing, but instead gave her the choice to name our new princess. There were many strong figures from history she could name this one for, I said, but Arya didn't need my suggestions.

"Sansa," she said firmly. "My sister always dreamed of being a princess." And thus, at last, there was a Princess Sansa of the Iron Throne.

Allow me to take this time to tell you a little more about my children. For while my two daughters were rather young, my boys were growing up fast, and causing problems as they did. Both found ways to annoy my council and courtiers. Daemon, the younger, was now a rowdy child and very nosy, while my eldest, Aegon, couldn't keep a conversation for more than a minute. Aegon also had the misfortune of looking nothing like me, but rather taking after his mother's Reachman looks. It didn't make him ugly, but it stirred up rumours that he wasn't my son after all, that his mother had been a "cheating whore" even at the beginning of our marriage, and that Aegon was unfit to be my heir. Of course, I was angered by these rumours, for I knew him to be my son. But even I couldn't deny that he didn't have the makings of a king. Fortunately, Aegon himself saw it too. When he turned 12, he approached me and asked permission to be sent to Oldtown, to train as a maester. He had always loved books and learning, and never felt more awkward than when he had to stand by my side as I ruled. Seeing that this was what made him happy, I readily agreed. It turned out to be a wise choice for all of us, and Aegon went on to excel in his studies. It took him only a year to form his first link, and I could not have been prouder. And with Daemon, I had long and arduous conversations which finally made him see what was expected of him, and how he could not go on pestering the courtiers who should be loyal to him one day. He took my words to heart and began to pursue a diplomatic education with fervour. I was most pleased, suffice to say. As reward, I granted him Drogon's egg, hoping he'd prove a true king by hatching it.

In the East, my sister gave birth to another child, a boy they named Lyam, apparently for Jon's real mother. Despite having two young children, Daenerys proved to be ever the warrior queen and continued her liberation quest to abolish slavery. I, on the other hand, sought peace in my realm and began brokering alliances and marriages.

They're a tricky subject, marriages. Daemon was growing fast to be a man, and would soon need a wife of his own. My first instinct was to wed him to his half-sister Visenya, for he had always been fond of the dark-haired girl and she of him. It was the Targaryen way, after all, but my wife would have none of it. Even though I tried to reason with her that my bloodline needed to be kept pure, so future generations would have a chance of taming dragons, she stayed adamant. "Let him marry Daenerys's daughter, that should be enough incest to please the dragons," she said. But Aryana was still a babe, and Daemon almost a man grown. Grumbling, I put the matter aside.


	10. The Burdens of a King

**THE BURDENS OF A KING**

Instead of finding Daemon a bride, I turned to help my old friends in Volantis, who were under attack from Braavos. While I was gone, my little daughter Visenya almost died of dysentery, but pulled through. I left my army in Volantis and returned home on dragonback only to find my little girl alive and well. Not alive, however, was Oberyn Martell, who had long and ably served on my council. I investigated the murder and finally managed to pin it, as well as the deaths of Tyrion and Cersei Lannister and Tommen Waters on the cunning mockingbird, Petyr Baelish. He tried to flee prosecution, but was caught, tried and sentenced to death. That sly fox had many connections still, it seems, for he escaped my dungeons the night before his executions. He did not escape the wrath of my wife, though, who mysteriously hunted him down within a day and brought him to me battered and bruised. She would see him executed right now, she said, and not a soul in my court dared to object. He pleaded for mercy, citing his undying love for her mother, but Warrior Queen Arya gave him only a hollow smile before crying out loud: "Dracarys!" And Rhaegal, once more, obliged her, and had mockingbird for dinner. Never before or after have I seen such a small but satisfied smile on Arya's face. I believe it was this night that we sired our third child together.

Time seemed to accelerate then. When you are not fighting wars, but simply busy ruling, many days seem the same. Only the occasional moments of weirdness, happiness or sadness stir you up. For example, I received news that Doran Martell had, at last, succumbed to gout, and since his daughter Arianne had died of a fever a few years before, her son Ellan inherited Dorne. The Dornish also told us Trystane Martell had fallen out with his wife Myrcella, since she had birthed a bastard from no other than the High Septon. The subsequent scandal shocked the entire realm. Another less shocking, but sadder event was the death of Ser Barristan the Bold, who died peacefully in his sleep at age 81.

But there was also good news. At 15, my son Aegon had already forged three links, and was well on his way of becoming a mastermind scholar. And on Dragonstone, my wife gave birth to our third daughter. "This one, you should name," she said smiling as she presented me with the dark-haired bundle of joy. I was at loss, for I had never chosen any of my children's names before. Like Arya, I felt I should name her for someone that was dear to me, but aside from my wife, the only woman that came to my mind was my sister. I wasn't sure the world was ready for another Daenerys Targaryen yet, so I pondered the matter some more. Finally, I announced the birth of Princess Shireen to the world. Arya did not object at all.

And time moved on. I found a new friend in Lord Robert Langward, a crownlander, who became my new Hand of the King. He introduced me to a peculiar game where you push around miniature armies on a table, simulating real battles. This game soon became my favourite pastime, and I would play it with Lord Robert, my wife and my son Daemon, whenever he had time. Most of the days, though, Daemon was busy training to become a competent diplomatic under the guidance of Lord Paramount Harrold Arryn. The wilful, pesky child he had once been was gone, replaced by a hard-working and charming young lad. I even managed to find him a bride after all – Rowena Arryn, his mentor's pretty blonde daughter.

Shortly before the wedding, which I had decreed would be grand, my wife discovered that she was with child once more. She was desperate, she told me. "I was not meant to be a mother of so many," she said, but I advised her against taking moon tea. If the gods wanted her to have this child, there must be a reason for it. Arya reluctantly agreed, but much later, when we were already old and grey, she told me she was eternally grateful for my intervention.

Finally, Daemon and Rowena Arryn were wed in a lavish ceremony, but their marital bliss was immediately overshadowed. While at the feast, the bride's father Harrold Arryn received news that a rebellion, led by Lord Lyn Corbray, had set the Vale ablaze. He left the feast immediately, rushing back home. His daughter he left with us. Daemon dutifully offered to fight for his father-in-law, even though he was no swordsman at all, but neither Arryn nor I agreed. Instead, I made him Lord of Dragonstone and sent him and his new wife there so they might get accustomed to each other. They certainly did so quickly, for she found herself with child almost immediately. The revolt in the Vale was crushed and in the Red Keep, Arya gave me a son she named Gendry (peculiar name, but she liked it), and my first grandchild Aemma was born. Everything seemed good, until Rowena Arryn succumbed to childbed fever only days after her daughter had been born, making my poor widowed son Daemon plunge into despair.


	11. Securing the Dynasty

**SECURING THE DYNASTY**

Two years after Rowena's unfortunate death, I managed to stir Daemon's spirits by convincing him to go on a foreign tour. See new things, meet new people. I would take his little motherless daughter as my ward in the meantime. Daemon agreed and went away. I hoped this would prove beneficial for him, but I clearly underestimated fate's tendency to fuck up my plans. Yes, Daemon found a new purpose in life. He made friends with worshippers of the old Valyrian faith, married the sister of some foreign lord, and destroyed Drogon's egg in an attempt to hatch it. He returned a different man.

Feeling my family was slipping through my fingers somehow, I organized a great tourney in 324 AC for all the realm. Aegon came from Oldtown, Daemon from Dragonstone, and Jon Snow came with his daughter Aryana from faraway Essos. I managed to improve the relationships between my relatives, and felt myself reconciled to Daemon's marriage without permission. His wife, Qaena Vhassar, was of Valyrian descent after all, which pleased me. What didn't please me, however, was how things continued with my children.

Only Aegon caused me no troubles. But Visenya took after her maternal uncle, Bran Stark, and began climbing the Red Keep, much to my dismay. She was getting restless, and I felt it was time to betroth her to someone so she knew where her life was headed. After much discussion, my wife and I finally agreed she would wed Lord Rogar Baratheon, whom Visenya was known to like.

Sansa, too, was troublesome. She proved to be the exact opposite of her namesake – though beautiful, she was not very ladylike. When I gave her jewels for her nameday, she instead asked to see the jeweller and learn his trade from him. She didn't care for flaunting pretty things, she wanted to make them. And she liked swords, a lot. My queen laughed about the whole matter and granted her daughter's wish.

But my greatest concern was Daemon. He suffered many subsequent illnesses, while his wife remained barren. Being a suspicious man, I hired people to have a closer look at Dragonstone, only to find out that Lady Qaena had been cheating on my son with Lord Monterys Velaryon. What is it with these bloody Velaryons? Were they not the Targaryen's most loyal bannermen, once? On behalf of my son I had the two adulterers arrested and duly tried. Both Lord Monterys and Qaena Vhassar lost their heads, and my heir was once again without a wife. Daemon didn't take it well. He became a heavy drinker and neglected his sweet daughter Aemma. He also didn't take it well that I gifted the egg which Rhaegal had recently given me not to him, but rather my little secret favourite, Princess Sansa. But how could I have given the egg to him, knowing how his rashness had destroyed Drogon's egg? He was so mad at me, he even refused to attend the wedding I hosted for Visenya and Rogar Baratheon.

But many others came, including my sister Daenerys, who brought her daughter Aryana with her for me to take on as my ward. She and her younger brother Lyam were always quarrelling, my sister said. And when Lyam, the little prodigy, had recently hatched the second egg by Drogon, Aryana had grown resentful of him. So Daenerys considered it wise to put an entire continent between them, and I did not object. Aryana, in turn, immediately took to me and my other ward, little Princess Aemma, who was ten years her junior. Aemma, who had never known a mother, found one in Aryana. The court also cherished Aryana's presence quickly, for she introduced foreign fashions and became the centre of attention my own queen had never wanted to be.


	12. Fight Fire With Fire

**FIGHT FIRE WITH FIRE**

The gods give and take at the same time. The very day I was informed my daughter Visenya had presented her lord husband with an heir to the Stormlands, a plump boy named Edric, was also the day Jon Snow's letter informed me Daenerys was afflicted by greyscale. Even though she was at the other end of the world, I tried everything within my power to save her. Alas, to no avail. The Mother of Dragons perished in the year 328 AC, leaving her vast empire to her young son Lyam. And to my eternal dismay, I could not even travel there to pay my respects, for my lands were under attack by pirates from the Stepstones. So instead of seeing my sister one last time, I mounted Rhaegal to bring fire and blood to the Pirate King. My forces quickly overwhelmed the Pirate King's seat at Sunstone, and we took both his wife and children hostage. King Ballio was not prone to giving up, however, and began a guerrilla war against me. In the end, I burned most of his ships and would have burned him as well, had I not come to respect his wife, who pleaded for mercy. I offered Pirate King Ballio and all his surviving men to go either to the Wall or into my dragon's belly. No one chose the latter.

Having eradicated most of the pirates in the area, I now officially made the Stepstones part of my kingdom. King Ballio's children I would care for, as I had sworn – his elder son became my wife's ward, while his younger was sent to Robb Stark far in the north. His wife and little daughters remained cherished guests in King's Landing, and would never speak a bad word about me.

When I returned home triumphantly, I was greeted with two most peculiar events. First, my daughter Sansa had managed to hatch her egg, naming the little dragon which emerged Goldscale, for obvious reasons. And second, my little granddaughter Aemma had managed to convince both her father and her favourite, Aryana, to get married. So, at last, my wife's proposition of Daemon marrying his cousin came to pass. I was not at all unhappy.

But I would soon be, for my daughter Visenya sent letters from Storm's End that vexed me to no end. Rogar Baratheon, it seemed, had already sired three bastards, shaming my beloved daughter in the process. I would have killed him instantly, had she not pleaded mercy with me because she, herself, was with child again. But I was fuming. And I would get my revenge, eventually, though not before some other things changed my family.

First, my fierce daughter Sansa had a bastard boy at age 16, and she forever refused to name the father. I was angry, of course, but seeing the boy's lilac eyes which so closely resembled that of my beloved sister Daenerys, I was pacified. I accept Aelyx Waters as my grandchild and forgave Sansa. I didn't have to forgive Daemon and Aryana when they, too, presented me with another grandchild: on Dragonstone, Prince Aerion had been born, and his mother now rode the big black Drogon. I was mighty proud, even though my son and heir was no dragon rider. My dynasty felt safe and secure.

But then Visenya wrote again, this time telling me her husband was planning to stake his own claim for the throne. That was too much. I openly demanded he come before me and affirm his loyalty, but that bastard refused and declared war upon me. Another Baratheon rebelling against another Targaryen king. The gods do have a strange sense of humour.

My first and foremost concern was my daughter, however, who was practically her husband's hostage at Storm's End. I could not bear the thought of him doing to her what had been done to Shireen Baratheon. My Visenya… so I took the war he offered, and I would not take it kindly. I called each and every bannerman to arms, and even Emperor Lyam, my nephew, sent aid. But guess who didn't? That bastard Harrold Arryn, who apparently felt slighted my son had moved on without his daughter, and that Aemma was no longer heiress to the throne. He sided with Baratheon! "We'll deal with him later," my wife simply said.

So I besieged Storm's End once more, and once again the girl I had come for managed to flee to me. Princess Visenya stole herself away from her guards together with her two little sons and came into my embrace. I would never let her go again, I promised. Instead, I crushed her husband's forces and imprisoned him. But even then, Lord Arryn persisted in his rebellion, so I had to ride north to the Eerie. I gave command over my armies to the most trustworthy and formidable fighter I knew – my daughter Sansa. Many were not convinced it was a good idea, but they would soon be. In fact, today nobody remembers there was ever a time someone doubted my daughter's martial abilities. To history, she will be known as a warrior on par with legends like Visenya Targaryen or Nymeria Martell. She took the Vale for me and forced Harrold Arryn to his knees.

With the rebellion finally over, I dealt out justice. Both my daughter Visenya and my ally and nephew, Emperor Lyam, counselled mercy for Rogar bloody Baratheon, so I did not feed him to Rhaegal and instead sent him to the Wall. His elder son by my daughter, Edric, would be new Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. My daughter Sansa agreed to tutor him at Storm's End, while the boy's mother stayed with me at King's Landing, taking care of Sansa's bastard Aelyx and her own infant son, Gallard. Lord Arryn, I was not so much inclined to pardon, and I believe he sensed it. He had the wits to die of ill bowel movements before he could be tried for high treason. That could have been it, but at one of the discussions at court that followed, Theon Greyjoy (whom I had foolishly pardoned after all) spoke up and named me a murderer. Things went awry, and in the end I had cut off one of his ears while he had hurt my little grandson Aelyx. He fled the court, but I knew in my heart this hadn't been the last of it. Ours was a blood feud now.


	13. The Dragon and the Kraken

**THE DRAGON AND THE KRAKEN**

Not everything was bad in those days. Aegon proudly wrote that he was a true master now, and his words inspired the Pirate King's elder son so much that he, too, asked to be sent to Oldtown. One less trouble for me to content with, I thought and readily agreed. But his departure reminded me that something had to be done about the Stepstones after all. They had proven to be somewhat quarrelsome, but mostly beneficial for the realm. With peace there, we were able to intensify our trade with Lys, which made the coffers of the crown swell with gold. It also made my daughter Visenya's heart swell with love, apparently, for she confessed to me she had fallen for the Lyseni envoy. Tregar Ormollen was the second son of the Grand Master of Lys and a comely man, so I could not fault Visenya for seeking happiness. I would profit from it, though. So after many discussions, a bargain was struck, and I named Tregar new Lord Paramount of the Stepstones and gave him my daughter to wife. Not too late, it appeared, for not even six months after the wedding did Visenya give birth to their daughter. My son Daemon, too, produced another grandchild for me with Maelor, a sickly boy. I summoned Maester Aegon, my eldest, from Oldtown to care for the child, and it worked.

In the meantime, another rebellion against an infant Lord Paramount broke loose in the Stormlands, but was crushed so quickly and decisively by my daughter Sansa that I couldn't even muster troops to help them before it was over. By now, people began calling her "the Red Sister" for all the blood she was so often covered in. Sansa seemed to enjoy that name very much.

And the younger of my children, Shireen and Gendry, began to gain prominence as well. I gave Gendry, now 14, his first military spurs as commander of one of King's Landing's gates. He seemed to enjoy this task very much and often consulted with his mother. Shireen, on the other hand, was a different matter. As repayment for the favour of helping me against Baratheon and Arryn, my nephew Emperor Lyam asked to have Shireen's hand in marriage. "There is none more worthy than a daughter of yours, uncle, and since Visenya is happily wed and Sansa would probably cut my cock off, allow me to court Shireen," he said. I told him that "Queen Shireen of Meereen" was somehow weird, to which he simply replied: "She wouldn't be queen, she'd be an empress." That, I could accept. I put it to her, and the idea of becoming empress obviously thrilled her far more than could be expected from the daughter of Arya Stark. So it was done, and Shireen left for Essos.

But then, it happened.

It had to happen one day. My blood still boiled when I looked at the scars Theon Greyjoy had left on my little grandson Aelyx's face. And when that thrice-damned squid finally declared war upon me, I felt eerily relieved. Once, I had made the mistake of roasting only his father and sparing the son. I would not make it again. To my surprise, though, he was supported by Lady Alyssa Lannister of the Westerlands and Lord Rickon Stark of the Riverlands, who seemed to be disgruntled by my reign. "We'll deal with them later," my wife said again.

For now, I paid Pyke another visit with Rhaegal whilst my formidable daughter Sansa led the vanguard in the siege. She personally engaged Theon Greyjoy in combat to show him how she felt about her wounded son. And the "Red Sister" got her revenge, slicing him open in so many spots that bards would later say his blood sprayed like a fountain. Had she been a man, I would have knighted her on the spot, but instead I decided to honour her bravery by giving her the sword that had started my long career. "Dark Sister for the Red Sister," I said smiling, and she accepted, visibly shaken. My time of personal combat was over, but hers had now begun.

After the rebellion was crushed, I allowed the wailing traitors Alyssa Lannister and Rickon Stark to bend the knee once more and send me hostages in return. Theon Greyjoy, however, I would not grant such mercy. Instead, I had him watch as the Driftwood Crown was given to his greatest rival, his sister Asha. Then I had him gelded and exiled him to the Free Cities. I would not grant him death, I wanted him to live and know that everyone was moving on without him, doing just fine. The look on his face I will never forget.

And there, on Pyke, Rhaegal gave me another dragon egg, which I took across the country to Dragonstone. There, I placed it in the bed of my little grandson and future heir, Aerion, which mended the rift I had once caused between his father Daemon and me by giving an egg to Sansa.


	14. A Wedding and Five Funerals

**A WEDDING AND FIVE FUNERALS**

Once again, time began to accelerate. My children grew up and had children of their own – from Essos, the birth of Lyam's and Shireen's first child, a princess Daenerys, was heralded. On Dragonstone, Daemon and Aryana celebrated the birth of little Rhaenys. And on Sunstone, Visenya had just given birth to her second daughter by her beloved Tregar Ormollen. I felt old. Even my eldest grandchild, Aemma, was of an age to marry suddenly, and she asked permission to wed Jonnel Stark, Lord Paramount Robb's only living son. How could I have refused such a prestigious match? But as I saw her cloaked in white and grey, I felt truly old. I held a tourney in their honour, which attracted half the country and went down in the history books.

Then began the deaths. First to go was Lord Willas Tyrell, my former brother-in-law. Then went Lord Rickon Stark, whose children had all predeceased him, and who had been forced to name a close male blood relative as his heir. Since there should be no union of the North and the Trident, and since Lord Robb had but one son, Rickon Stark (who had never liked me for some reason) had grudgingly accept the son of his remaining sister as heir. That sister, of course, was my wife Arya, and her son was my son, Gendry. And thus, Gendry married Liane Blackwood, a Riverland girl, and became Lord Paramount of the Trident. Soon after, they had a son whom Gendry with his strange sense of humour named Rhaegar. Prince Rhaegar of the Trident.

Sadly, the next to go was my niece and daughter-in-law, the much beloved Aryana of Dragonstone. She had not been granted a year with her new-born daughter Rhaenys before succumbing to cancer. Aegon, who had gloriously been made archmaester at only 37, had been summoned from Oldtown, but there had been nothing he could have done. For the third time, Daemon was without a wife and fell back into depression.

And then, in the year 340, I suffered the greatest loss of them all. My wife, my queen, my confidant Arya took to bed with the flu and never recovered. It was then that I knew my days were over. I had lived a long, eventful life, but now time had moved on without me. I wouldn't cry, I wouldn't wail. Instead, I would prepare the world for a time without me.

I called all of my children and grandchildren to court and gave them gifts. My wife's cherished blade Needle, for example, I gave to Visenya's eldest daughter and future Lady of the Stepstones, Nysaria, for I knew this would have pleased Arya Stark. Visenya's eldest boy, Lord Paramount Edric of the Stormlands, who was much more to my liking than his blasted father, I gave the legendary war hammer of Robert Baratheon. Yes, it had killed my brother. Yes, there had been bad blood between Targaryens and Baratheons. But I wanted to make amends, and let bygones be bygones. 13 year old Edric agreed and promised to be ever loyal to the crown.

During this meeting, word reached us that Jon Snow had perished at last, and now there were two great dragons without a rider. Drogon, who had stayed at Dragonstone after Aryana's death, had flown away together with Jon's Viserion. Two great beasts like that attract attention, and it was widely agreed the Targaryen dynasty could not leave them unattended. If anyone found them and used them against us… so my son Daemon and my fierce daughter Sansa vowed to find them and set sail. In the meantime, Robb Stark breathed his last, and his son Jonnel took my granddaughter Aemma and their little son, Eddard, north with him.

I felt alone. With Arya gone, with Aegon in Oldtown, Daemon and Sansa overseas, Visenya on the Stepstones, Shireen in faraway Meereen and Gendry in Riverrun, I was an old man without purpose. Living now felt like waiting, although I didn't know what I was waiting for.

When I heard the dragon's cries, I knew what it was.

First to appear on the horizon was Drogon, who looked like Balerion the Black Dread reborn. With him came Viserion and Goldscale, much to my relief. And to my utter befuddlement, I found not only Sansa riding her dragon, but my son Daemon as well. He who had never been able to hatch an egg, who had always envied his wife Aryana for being able to ride Drogon, had found his match at last. When he dismounted shining white Viserion, I hugged him with tears of joy in my eyes. My dynasty was, at last, secure.

So when my nephew, whom they already called "Lyam the Great", called for aid against Dothraki hordes invading his territory, I knew this was my call. I spoke to Daemon, whom I told he would be king now, before mounting Rhaegal one last time. My son was visibly shaken by the thought of my impending demise, but he also seemed to understand that I would wait until old age or some painful sickness took me away. I would not stand by and wither. If I had to go, I would go out with fire and blood.

I died on a sunny day in the year 341 AC, surrounded by Dothraki screamers, while looking at Rhaegal flying safely far above our heads. The Nomads must have considered me an old, weak, and weary man. I smiled as their blades pierced my belly. I smiled, thanked the gods, and took all the strength I had left to say one last word.

"DRACARYS!"


	15. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

Now that my time is over, I do not wish to muse on my successes and mistakes. Rather, I am curious to see what comes after. If there is any justice in the world, there must be an after-life. And if so, there are many I wish to see. I long for my mother's loving embrace, hoping to see her proud of me. I wish to see both my father and brother again, who never thought highly of me. And Rhaegar, whom I never truly met. When their follies had almost destroyed our family, I rebuilt it from the ashes, together with my sister. Ah, Daenerys, my beautiful, cunning, warm-hearted sister, how I long to see her again! And then there's Margaery, whom you might be surprised to hear I wish to see. I have never forgotten the pain she caused me, but I feel it right to thank her for the two wonderful sons she had given me, both of which turned out to be just perfect the way they are. The only one I dread is her, my wife, my queen… not because I did not love her, for I now see ours was much more than a marriage of convenience. It was a union of likeminded souls, and I had missed her presence ever since the day she died. No, I would give everything to hold Arya in my arms again, but I dread what she'll say to me. For I will have to tell her what Daemon told me before I left to fight the Dothraki, and she will most certainly not be pleased. During their quest to find Drogon and Viserion, it seems, their Targaryen legacy had finally gotten the better of my son and daughter. "If I am to be a great king, like you, I need a fierce warrior queen like the one you had," Daemon had told me to explain that he had wed his half-sister, Sansa, in front of gods and men not too far away from the smoking ruins of Old Valyria. "We are blood of the dragon after all, aren't we?," he had asked me. And he was right. We were blood of the dragon, him and Sansa and Visenya and Aegon and Shireen and Gendry and Daenerys and Jon and Aryana and Lyam, and me. We had taken the world, and we had changed it. And I am sure my children and grandchildren will continue that legacy without me, but with fire, and blood.


End file.
